It’s not as if this much coddled traveler hadn’t stayed in the
finest hotels—like Le Bristol
in Paris. I was always amazed
when three attendants jumped
up to twirl the revolving door
for Madame, so burdened was
I by my shopping bags from
designer boutiques along
the Rue du Faubourg Saint-
Honoré. And a hotelier I’d
never met actually greeted me
by name as I stepped onto
the dock of the Heyman Island
Hotel at Australia’s Great
Barrier Reef (the ship’s mate
had discreetly radioed a
description of each new
arrival). But even such niceties
pale before the personal
service that made the Burj Al
Arab (Arab Tower) in Dubai,
the first seven-star hotel in the
world—even though official
international hotel ratings
stop at five!

Even if you’ve never set foot in Dubai,
you’ve seen photos of its pale, pristine
exterior, curved to recall the unfurled sail
of an Arab dhow. Rising some 600 feet
into the desert sky, this architectural
treasure stands on its own island just off
shore in the lively Jumeirah resort area.
A private bridge connects it to the mainland.
If you choose to arrive at the hotel
by helicopter, like the Emirates royals,
you will land on the flat round helipad
disk you see jutting out from the rooftop.
My friends and I, on a short must-see
stopover, just grabbed a cab from the
airport. But later we could not resist touring
the city in one of the hotel’s fleet of
chauffeured white Rolls-Royces.

By day, its soaring walls gleam in the
perpetual desert sunlight. By night, when
we arrived, this stunning hotel’s exterior
drew gasps with a changing light show of
rainbow hues, echoing the jewel tones of
its dazzling interior. If ever I felt like the
Sheika herself, it was on entering that
glittering world of Middle Eastern glamour,
where gentlemen in Arab robes or
Savile Row suits and bejeweled women
in designer gowns, or evening kimonos,
saris and abayas, chattered away in
at least 10 languages on their way to
dinner.

Just inside the massive glass doors
beneath the tallest hotel atrium in the
world, stood our lineup of official
greeters. Men in white robes and headscarves
offered cooling wet towels, platters
of plump, creamy dates and
thirst-quenching drinks, along with welcoming
smiles. An impeccably groomed
host (each guest has his own) soon
whisked me up the steep lobby escalator
past a tiered fountain of spectacular
dancing waters on one side. On the
other, was the glass wall of the hotel’s famous
two-story aquarium with hundreds
of exotic inhabitants of the Arabian Sea
darting in and out of a swaying reef.
Then it was into an elevator with golden
doors to a small period desk, where the
sixth floor concierge stood up to greet
me with the two sixth floor butlers. (Since
it’s unseemly for a Muslem man to
unpack or pack a woman’s suitcase,
there is a male and female butler for
each floor.)

Eager to lay down my head after a
long flight from Los Angeles, I reached
for my new key card...